


Family Way

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: An idea I’ve had bouncing around for a bit: Freddie as the emergency baby-sitter for his bandmates, in the case of this fic, for John and Veronica. Set in August of 1978, so he’s looking after a six month old Michael here (in my experience with my younger cousins, the age where babies become more interactive with their environment, but also start to be a bit more Trouble, in trying to move about and teething and things like that. Not their fault of course, but god do children seem like little Accident Awaiting Machines sometimes.)Anyway, Freddie is enlisted to look after Michael, and while babies aren’t exactly an area of expertise, surely he can manage.Mostly a lot of cuteness here folks. A brief mention of a fictional injury to Robert, Michael’s older brother, as a catalyst to start the plot of this fic, but nothing graphic is mentioned (and he’s fine lol. Kids are like rubber when they’re little it seems like.)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Family Way

“I wouldn’t ask unless I truly had no one else-” 

“John, it’s fine, really-” 

“I’m so sorry,” John interrupted, helping Veronica place all the necessary supplies they’d brought into Freddie’s flat. “I tried ringing Roger and Brian, but neither of them answered and maybe they’re busy, or not home, and we need to get Robert to hospital, now, and-” 

“John,” Freddie said again, softer, and took Michael as Veronica handed him over. “I can manage. He’s only six months, it isn’t like he can do much anyway, right?” 

John looked petrified. 

“I’m joking,” Freddie smiled, and bounced Michael gently on his hip. “We’ll stay right in here, where he’s safest, and be just fine. You can breathe again, I promise.” 

“John, we need to go,” Veronica stressed. 

They gave him a nod and one last look, and then they were gone, the sound of their car zooming down the road with Robert in tow. 

“Siblings, hm?” Freddie said to Michael as he locked the door of the flat, and went to sit on the couch. “You know, in my experience, the younger one is usually more trouble. But there’s your big brother, breaking that tradition! Your father is going to have to tell me later how exactly he managed to hit his head on the table that fiercely.” 

Michael looked at him, but only for a moment, letting out a little sigh as he took in the flat. 

“No offense,” Freddie said. “But it is a bit difficult when you can’t talk. Not that I’m saying you’ll be a bad conversationalist. But as of right this moment, I mean...well. That isn’t your fault, is it? You’ll get there.” 

Michael babbled a few noises, and smiled. 

“All progress is good progress,” Freddie said. “Now, I’ll admit, I don’t recall much from the last time I saw your brother at this age: what is it little ones like to do?” 

But Michael was preoccupied with looking behind him, at the shadows from outside that slipped through the sheer white curtains. 

“People watching? Why not?” Freddie asked, and carefully adjusted so he was knelt on the couch, holding Michael so he could peer out the window, after he pushed the curtain aside for him. “What goes on in the world, Michael?” 

“Ba,” Michael mumbled, and Freddie nodded sagely. 

“You don’t say? Any trouble we should look out for? Ne’er-do-wells?” 

Michael tried to jab a tiny finger towards the window, and Freddie peered down to where he pointed. “Oh! Yes, there is someone down there, but I think she’s just walking past. You’re convinced otherwise?” 

Michael let out a soft shriek, and Freddie chuckled. “Very well. She’s clearly an agent of evil. A good catch, on your part.” 

Michael babbled some more, and as Freddie turned back and sat normally on the couch, leaned close to gum at Freddie's shoulder. 

“Now that won’t do,” Freddie said. “For one thing, this shirt is vintage, and a pain to clean.” 

He shifted Michael off of his shoulder, only to frown as Michael whimpered. 

“None of that,” Freddie scolded gently. “You don’t want to chew on silk anyway. Mum and Dad left you something here for this, hold on.” 

He rifled through one of the three bags they had brought in (and he had always heard parents gradually carried less and less for each child they had, apparently the Deacons had not reached that mark yet, what with the three bags, play pen/travel crib looking thing, and four blankets they’d dropped off along with Michael) but the chew toy looking item John had sworn was there, was not. 

“Hang on another moment,” he told Michael, who had snuggled into his shoulder again, and wasn’t crying, but was whimpering increasingly loudly. “I know, life is a chore some days, isn’t it?” 

It was hard to look with Michael squirming unhappily, so he carefully placed him into the play pen/crib. 

A mistake. 

The crying started in earnest then, and Michael gave him a look as if Freddie had performed some ultimate betrayal by putting him down, that surely could never be forgiven. 

“You’ll have to be patient,” Freddie said, well aware that such a statement generally wasn’t helpful, with six month old children nor with sixty-six year old record company executives. But there wasn’t much else he could say either. 

Especially as he now had all three bags emptied, their contents on the floor of the sitting room, and there was no teething ring among them. 

“In fairness to your parents,” Freddie said over Michael’s sobbing. “They were in a rush, and scared for your brother. But that doesn’t do us much good now, does it?” 

He tossed everything back into the bags quickly, then retrieved Michael from the play pen/crib. 

It was hard not to audibly ‘aw’ as Michael snuggled into his arms, his crying slowing into little hiccups and whimpers again. 

“Sweetheart,” Freddie soothed. “Let’s see what else we can do for you, hm?” 

Truth be told, John had never mentioned more than once that Michael had started teething, aside from the fact that they were prepared for it to be happening soon, and had the needed supplies like the teething ring. 

But apparently, he was in the full swing of it now, or at least something in regards to it was going on. He smashed his little face into Freddie and rubbed it, as if that would somehow make it all better, rather than making Freddie’s shirt a mess. 

But he had already made his peace with that, and he could sacrifice one shirt for one of John’s kids. 

“What about some other toy?” he tried, and pulled out whatever he could from the bags, one after the other as he settled back on the couch. 

The teddy bear was tossed to the floor, the block at his face (and that one hurt more than he expected it to, since the wooden edges had looked worn down), and the plastic giraffe thrown as far across the room as Michael could probably manage. 

“That’s a no then,” he sighed, and looked to the phone. 

He didn’t want to bother her. In theory, there were others he could call, but if they weren’t answering, he would end up calling her anyway. So he might as well start with his mum. 

“Mum, I’ve got a baby.” 

“All on your own? As long as you didn’t steal it,” his mum replied, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather. “One of John’s?” 

“The youngest,” he replied, the phone crooked on his shoulder while he tried to hold Michael and keep him from grabbing the phone cord in his tiny fist. “There was an accident with their oldest-” 

“Is he okay?” 

“He’ll be fine, as far as I know,” Freddie replied, trying not to laugh as Michael fought him for the phone cord. “God, how are they so strong when they’re this little?” 

“What is he doing?” his mum laughed. “I don’t hear much crying anymore.” 

“He’s preoccupied with yanking the phone away from me via the cord,” Freddie said. “That, and being in pain over teething, which John had sworn hadn’t started yet, or at least they thought it hadn’t, but I’d argue they were wrong, and I know it’s their child, but-” 

“You want to know how to help him,” his mother interrupted softly. “Don’t you remember what I used to do for you, when you were teething?” 

“In my defense, I was a baby,” Freddie replied. “So no, I don’t.” 

She sighed, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “A cold cloth. Keep it as cold as you can, and let him chew on that. I know they make things for this now, but if you don’t have any, that will do. Though you’ll be running it under water every other hour, if not more often. Did John say when they would be back?” 

“I don’t think they had any way of knowing,” Freddie replied. “Robert hit his head, and they were headed to a doctor, but I don’t know what sort of time estimate anyone could have for something like that.” 

“The poor thing,” his mother cooed. “Well, if you have him the rest of the night, be prepared that he might not sleep much, so you won’t either. If you need anymore help, you know you can call.” 

He nodded. “Thank you, Mum.” 

As soon as he hung up, and gently took the cord from Michael’s hand, the wailing resumed in full. 

But he ignored it, and instead did exactly as he’d been instructed: a washcloth, run under the bathroom tap, under as cold of water as he could get. 

Michael let him softly push the cloth into his mouth, and immediately balled his hands up to hold it there. 

“Better?” Freddie asked, letting himself sigh with relief as he made his way back to the couch. “Good. This is not a reflection on you, but things like this are why I don’t know if I would ever want to find a way to have children. Not that it could happen naturally, I mean, but...well. Point is, I don’t know if I could do this, day in and day out. You’re a cute little bugger, but exhausting.” 

Michael’s big eyes looked up at him as he cradled him, but he was fully intent on suckling at the washcloth. 

“And we haven’t even gotten into trying to feed you, or a diaper change,” Freddie continued. “Not that I can’t manage any of that, but my word. I’m fine helping out like this, but I am also quite okay with giving you back once your parents come back.” 

He stared at the folded high chair that had been left on the floor near the front door. “Speaking of, I ought to get that unpacked and ready. Will you be okay if I lay you down for a moment?” 

Michael didn’t so much as whine as Freddie placed him into the play pen/crib, and it felt like a miracle. 

It was lucky too that the flat wasn’t overly large, so he could quickly unpack the high chair, assemble it, and push it into the kitchen/dining area without having to be more than a few steps from Michael. 

His shirt, however, definitely needed to be changed now, and that Michael would need to come along for. It seemed too far away, to be down the hall in his room and Michael alone in the sitting room. 

He scooped Michael back up, and carried him to his room. “What should I put on, do you think?” 

Michael tossed the now warm cloth onto him, and babbled. 

“Right. This first, then a shirt,” Freddie sighed, and went back to the bathroom. 

In his room again, Michael watched from the bed as Freddie stripped off his shirt, and tried to search through his clothing without actually turning away from or taking his eyes off of Michael. 

“You know, who even needs shirts?” Freddie finally said, and picked Michael up off of the bed. “You might just throw up on me later, and then I would have to change anyway. It would be disgusting if that happened now, but I can clean myself more easily than half of my shirts.” 

For that matter, Michael didn’t seem to mind either way how he was dressed, and rested happily against his chest, cloth still in his mouth, as they went back to the couch. 

He had thought he could read while they rested, but as the sun went down and night came in, he found it harder to stay awake. 

Michael, for his part, had passed out. The cloth had fallen out of his mouth and hands to the couch, and he breathed softly and sweetly against Freddie’s skin. It was utterly adorable, but made it all the more important that Freddie stay awake. 

“Sometimes, I wish we had made a few more quiet songs,” Freddie whispered, half to Michael, half to himself. “I’d put on one of our albums for you, so you could hear your daddy, but it isn’t exactly lullaby material...” 

Michael let out the tiniest, most relaxed sigh. 

“No music,” Freddie murmured. “Just have to focus on staying awake.” 

He stood as carefully as he could, to walk around the flat. To keep himself awake, though the bonus was Michael seemed to care little if he moved or not. 

For about an hour, it was about as perfect as he figured it could be with something like this. Michael sleeping happily, his little back rising and falling under Freddie’s hand, his head on Freddie’s shoulder, while Freddie wandered around the flat, over and over. 

But Michael finally woke with an angry cry, and he moved to what he figured might be the solution.

Michael frowned as Freddie situated him in the high chair, and somehow frowned more when presented with the small serving of mashed apples Veronica had packed among the various containers of food in Bag One. 

“It’s probably good,” Freddie said, and dipped a finger into it for a taste. “Oh. Hm. I was thinking it would be more like applesauce, but there is not an inkling of sugar in there. I can see why you might not like it. But it’s edible, that has to count for something?” 

Michael took his little hand, grabbed the plastic dish of it, and tossed it to the floor resolutely. 

“Ah,” Freddie sighed. “I’ll clean that later, I suppose. What about a bottle?” 

He prepped it with one eye on Michael, who kicked his legs and fussed in the high chair, then presented it with a hand ready to try and catch it if Michael should send it flying. 

But Michael held it as best he could, and seemed happier with it. 

“Let’s get you out of there,” Freddie said. “You can’t angle it right like that, can you?” 

Michael let out an unhappy squeal as the bottle was taken away and set on the table so Freddie could free him from the high chair, and cradled him before giving him the bottle again. 

“See?” he gave Michael a raised brow. “Now we can tilt it better, and you can get more! So ready to fuss right away...but I don’t know if can blame you. If there’s a time to fuss as much as you want, it really is now. Trust me, once you get older, people tend to hate it the more you fuss over things.” 

He walked them back to the couch, and sat down while Michael continued to eat. “Though I will say, sometimes you have to know when to fuss, you know? It can be important, standing up for yourself, for things you need, or when things ought to be done a certain way. At least, in regards to records and songs, and things like that...” 

Michael’s eyes watched him dutifully, as if he was recording all of it down in his mind for later. 

“Who knows? You might not even go into music,” Freddie said. “You’ve got it all in front of you yet, did you know that? But how could you know? It would probably blow your little mind if you did.” 

The bottle was finished in record time, and one burping and blessedly uneventful diaper change later, Michael was rubbing at his eyes. 

“I think you ought to be sleeping,” Freddie said softly. “Staying up late is less fun than you think.” 

Michael whined, and looked right at him, as if he somehow knew Freddie was lying. 

“Oh, alright. It’s really nice, actually. At least, sometimes. Having time at night just to yourself, to do what you need or want. But you don’t have chores or tasks for a job or anything to worry about, so you should sleep.” 

He tried the cloth again, ran fresh under more cool water, but Michael pushed it away. 

“Mum did say you might not be interested in sleeping, didn’t she?” Freddie mused. “But look at you, darling. You’re tired.” 

Michael was rubbing at his eyes and snuggling into Freddie’s bare shoulder as if it was his sole purpose in life, but he didn’t sleep even so. 

“I’ve never seen dark circles under a baby’s eyes, and I don’t intend to see that on you now,” Freddie said, gently stern. “Should we try music this time? I don’t know how often John plays around you, but why not give it a whirl?” 

Queen II seemed the closest to something you might play for a baby (and that was probably stretching it a bit, it wasn’t exactly an album of lullabies) and Michael’s face lit up as the record played. 

“There! Do you hear your daddy playing on that?” he asked quietly as he made yet another return to the couch with Michael gnawing at his bare shoulder. “He does a lovely job, doesn’t he?” 

Michael mumbled some sounds into his shoulder, and Freddie nodded. 

“We’re incredibly lucky to have him, and we’ll be luckier still if he doesn’t decide to give it up some day to be home with you. Though...I will cede, I can see why he might consider it. He likes being a father a great deal, I know that. And you seem to be a good son. Although there’s no saying what happens once you can move around more like your brother, I suppose.” 

It was a fight again to stay awake, though he had already turned on various lights in the flat in between finishing Michael’s feeding and everything else. 

But he didn’t dare move to put Michael down in the play pen/crib, once he was finally asleep again. It felt too risky. 

Instead, he stayed put on the couch, listening to the record until it was over, then listening to the sounds of the flat. 

It had been nearly seven when they had dropped Michael off, and it was almost two in the morning when they knocked at his door again. 

He answered it quietly and carefully, Michael still asleep on his shoulder. 

“All is well?” he asked John, who nodded. 

“Not even stitches. He just hit himself at a good angle to bleed a lot, made it seem much worse than it was. Doctor says he’ll be fine in a day or so. All well here?” 

Freddie nodded. “He’s very well-behaved, though you should know, he is definitely teething, and you did forget that teething toy or whatever it was you said you had packed.” 

John winced. “Sorry. Well, we’ve imposed upon you far too much already, you must be exhausted.” 

“Bit tired, but I’ve had worse nights,” Freddie said. “As I said, he was perfectly behaved, for a baby.” 

He kept Michael in his arms until John had retrieved all the various baby gear out of the flat, and back into their car, where Veronica and Robert waited. 

“Let me give you your freedom back,” John laughed softly, and reached out to take Michael. 

Freddie handed Michael over as gently as he could, but that was all it took to make Michael’s eyes flutter open. 

He whined and started to cry as John settled him against his shoulder. “I know. You liked visiting Uncle Freddie, didn’t you? And you were so comfy, and I had to move you. I’m so sorry.” 

He had figured he might feel something when they came to take Michael back, but he hadn’t expected the pang of sadness that hit him once Michael was out of his arms. 

“He’s welcome as a guest here anytime,” he said cheerfully to mask it from John. “More well-behaved and sweeter than most people I have over.” 

“Thank you again, Freddie,” John said warmly, and gave him a half-hug as best he could. “I owe you one.” 

“Not at all,” Freddie waved away his words. “I’m here to help, though hopefully the next time you need a baby-sitter it won’t be for anything like today. Keep Robert away from table edges.” 

John nodded, and patted Michael’s back to try and soothe him, but the absolutely pitiful crying echoed down the walkway as John left and made his way to their car. 

Freddie shut and locked the door, and sighed. “Still don’t think I could do that every day. But it was better than I expected, and he was so sweet...I could volunteer to look after a child again, I think. Ha! Never thought I’d say that.” 

The walls of his flat didn’t answer him, but his phone rang, and he trotted over to answer it. 

“Freddie, I know you were probably sleeping,” Brian sounded exhausted. 

“No, not yet,” Freddie said. 

“Really? Why?” 

“Long story,” Freddie replied. “Are you alright?” 

He bit back a gasp as Brian audibly teared up. “We just need an extra pair of hands. Roger isn’t answering, neither is John, or any of our parents, and God, I need only fifteen minutes of sleep, I swear, but he won’t go down-” 

“Seems to be the day for things like this,” Freddie interrupted gently. “I was looking after Michael only a little bit ago. Would it help if I came over and helped you two keep an eye on James?” 

Brian made the saddest sound Freddie had ever heard in agreement. 

“Let me get ready, and I’ll be over as soon as I can,” Freddie said. “I don’t know how much more difficult a three month old is compared to six months, but I suppose I’ll find out now, won’t I?” 

He hung up before Brian could answer, and went to change into something more comfortable, a sweatsuit, and to pack a bag. 

Parenting and baby-sitting might not ever be an area he would dedicate his life to, but for a night? He could play at it, help with it. 

And he would have to let Michael know, the next time John brought him by or had Veronica and the kids visit the studio, that he owed him for giving him another taste of what it was like, to look after a little one. He would have gone to help Brian and Chrissie regardless of course, but having cared for Michael earlier in the day was certainly good in terms of extra preparation for it. 


End file.
